


Going Up

by Trish47



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Elevator Sex, F/M, Smut, Wedding Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2020-01-04 13:48:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18344918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trish47/pseuds/Trish47
Summary: At Finn and Rose's wedding, Rey meets the guy Rose has been trying to set her up with for ages: tech tycoon, Ben Solo. Just when it looks like Rey's dry spell might be over, the hotel elevator gets stuck. Usually a patient person, will Rey be able to wait it out or will desire take control?





	Going Up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MyJediLife](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyJediLife/gifts).



> This was a fun prompt to sprint through. It got more involved than I originally intended (typical). These two, always catching feelings.
> 
> Enjoy!

 

* * *

 

Rey circled the table in the reception hall's main entry three times, searching for her table assignment. On the first lap, she casually glanced at the sloping black lines, admiring the beautiful penmanship on the paper strips sticking out of miniature mason jars. Once or twice, she reached out to trace the delicate rose petals tucked alongside the papers with one fingertip. They were cute name-holders, though Rey wasn’t sure they fit Rose’s taste. While her best friend’s parents had named their daughter after the flower, Rose had told Rey her favorites were actually chrysanthemums. She supposed the large blooms would overwhelm the tiny glass vessels.

For her second lap, Rey concentrated on locating her name. It was difficult to see in the dimmed lighting, so she found herself bending, squinting at the names on the slim slips. The curved lines on the cardstock all seemed to run together. For goodness' sake, it was a short, uncommon name; it should stick out plain as day.

Wrong. It refused to appear.

Frustration growing, Rey's hand went to rub her eyes before remembering she was wearing an obscene amount of makeup by her standards. Rose had invited Rey to get her hair and makeup done that morning along with Paige, and she hadn't been able to deny her friend anything on her special day. Unable to physically rub the stress away for risk of smudging her eyeliner, Rey abandoned the table briefly, thinking a glass of Sauvignon Blanc from the open bar might help.

Wrong again.

Her third attempt at finding her name should have been a cake walk. Upon returning to the table, there were fewer than twenty jars left. And _still_ she couldn’t locate her name. Worse yet, all the names seemed to be paired, reading “Mr. and Mrs.” or two names clearly meant to be the invitee plus one. Rey’s name should jump out: it would be alone.

At the point of not caring about manners now, Rey grabbed jar after jar to scan the names. “Who can read this scribble?” she grumbled, trying to determine if letters were vowels or consonants.

“I can,” came a deep voice from behind her.

Rey’s thigh nudged the table a little too hard, making an awful squeak that had dozens of eyes shooting her way. She held up a hand, issued an apologetic smile, and wheeled around to face the speaker who had interrupted her search. Rey only had to tilt her chin slightly to meet his eyes. In her heels -- painful things she couldn’t wait to shuck at the dinner table before heading for the dance floor -- her eyes were nearly at his chin level; however, if she took them off, she’d be staring straight at his chest.

A rather large chest covered by a rather expensive looking suit.

 _Sharp._ That was the word which sprang to her mind at she processed the tailored suit, the suave, dark hair framing his face, the clean-shaven jaw, and the piercing eyes hovering a mere foot away. Rey opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

The stranger took pity on her and offered, “Maybe I can be of assistance?”

“I think someone picked mine up on accident. It’s not a big deal,” she returned, shaking herself from the lingering stun.

The man was intimidatingly attractive, like a dangerous international man of mystery, except Rey couldn't determine if he was the hero or the villain. He held a glass of amber liquid in his left hand, probably Scotch. As he took a sip, Rey’s eyes automatically scanned his fingers -- leading her to wonder if everything about him was long and thick -- and found no ring. Was he here alone then? His level of intrigue spiked.

“What’s the name?” he continued.

“Rey,” she stammered, a little breathless under his scrutinizing gaze. He had such dark eyes, framed by full, fanned lashes. Normally she didn’t care for men with longer hair, but something about the luscious waves falling to his jawline made her weak in the knees. She supplied her last name too: “Rey Niima.”

“'Rey Niima,'” he repeated warmly, smiling around the final syllable before taking another sip of his drink. “Not a very common name, is it?”

He scanned the table, moving about twenty-five degrees to her right, and plucked a mason jar with a white rose from the table. “Ah. Mrs. Rey Niima. Here you are.”

Rey wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or enraged. How could she have missed it when it was right there? How did he find it so easily? “I must have looked at this jar a dozen times,” she muttered, reaching for it. Their hands brushed during the exchange, and Rey had to hide her slight gasp with a more pronounced cough. “And it's not 'missus.'”

 _Way to be smooth, Rey,_ she thought with an inward groan. Why didn't she just say she was single and interested? Rose had always warned she was blunt. Her friend had also needled her about breaking her dry spell which was turning into an endless drought.

“The paper is wrong,” she added lamely.

The stranger frowned. “It is?”

Rey shrugged. “Not a big deal. I just need to know which table I’m sitting at tonight.” Finally reading the slip, she noted, “It looks like it’s lucky number seven.”

The man was shaking his head. “No, this won’t do.” He held out his hand -- for the jar, Rey assumed -- and she had to fight the urge to plant her own hand in his instead.

Not entirely sure what he was going to do with the jar, she turned it over. Removing the cardstock strip with two fingers, he reached into his jacket pocket, producing a pen that didn’t look like a run-of-the-mill Bic. He unscrewed the cap, set the paper on the tabletop, and bent over to make a revision. Rey watched as the sloping, loopy script she’d seen on the front of the card was born again on the back, left behind by his smooth, sure strokes.

“You made these?” She almost squeaked.

“Not bad for scribble, right?” He flashed a grin in her direction that made the alcohol in her stomach turn molten.

“And you are?” she asked as the doors to the dining hall opened. Her eyes skittered to the mass of people pairing up to enter the grand ballroom for dinner.

“Solo. Ben Solo.”

God, he even answered questions like the infamous spy.

 _Wait._ Rey’s mind came to a screeching halt, and her head inclined over her shoulder to peer at him again. Then her synapses fired off at full force, speeding through connections. This couldn’t be _the_ Ben Solo, the reclusive tech tycoon Rose had been trying to set her up with for months now? Rey had always found reasons to say no to her friend’s blind date attempts, the first being Rose had no pictures of the man; hell, even the big tech magazines hadn't been able to get a solid shot of him.

More importantly, Rey wasn’t ready to commit to any kind of relationship. She was at the end of her bio-engineering degree and close to publishing her Master's thesis on lab engineered foods. Other than this weekend to celebrate Rose and Finn getting married, her time was dedicated to her work.

That only meant she should enjoy herself as much as possible tonight, right?

Rey licked her lips, mouth going dry as she considered what fun she and the enigmatic Ben Solo could have.

Ben watched her a moment with an unreadable expression, then looked to the ballroom doors and questioned, “Seven, you said? That makes us tablemates, Ms. Niima. Shall we?”

He offered his arm. Rey slipped her hand over the soft cotton of his suit. She sidled closer and. . .god, he smelled amazing. Like gunsmoke and cherries. Maybe he actually was a spy and was simply masquerading as a reclusive, handsome tycoon.

“Please, call me ‘Rey,’” she corrected.

“Only if you’ll call me ‘Ben.’”

 

* * *

 

Thanks to the delayed retrieval of her seating assignment, Rey and Ben were the last two to arrive at table seven. The only two remaining spots were conveniently next to one another. This whole thing was starting to feel orchestrated, though Rey couldn't find it in her heart to be angry. Also seated at the table were Kaydel Connix and her date, Poe Dameron, along with some other guests who were in their mid to late twenties.

As they got close to the seats, Ben let his arm fall to his side, dropping her hand. Rey knew his intention: he was going to play the part of the gentleman and pull out her chair for her. Well, not if she had her way. With an extra long stride, Rey reached his space, stood behind the chair, and wiggled it out enough for him to squeeze in.

“After you,” she said. When he didn't immediately sit down, she waved her hand over the seat. “Please. I insist.”

He leaned into her personal bubble, hovering only an inch or so from her face. His breath warmed her cheek. “Why do you insist?”

“Are you kidding? Your suit costs three or four times what this dress does,” Rey returned, not bothering to keep her voice hushed. “If anyone deserves the royal treatment at this table, it's you.”

A bark of a laugh sounded across the table. Rey glanced over at Poe -- whom Kaydel was trying to quiet with a few whispered words -- then back at Ben. He was glowering at the man opposite him. “Is there something you'd like to say, Dameron?”

Rey wasn't aware she and Ben had more than Rose as mutual acquaintances. She didn't know Poe as well as Finn, though he often came over to the same weekend dinners Rose hosted. Upon first meeting, the US fighter pilot had tried to impress Rey and flirt her to death, but none of his considerable charm had worked. It took more to win her over than a list of daring missions and a few smirks.

Unless, it seemed, the smirks were coming from the man still invading her personal space. When he returned his gaze to Rey, Ben's lips curved in a private smile that made her heart thunder.

Poe continued his attempts to goad a reaction from Ben. “I didn't realize Rose had finally gotten the two of you together. She's been trying for so long.”

Ben deliberately unbuttoned his hand-stitched dinner jacket and sat down, allowing Rey to push in his chair without further protest. “You’re mistaken, as ever, Dameron.”

“We've only just met,” Rey confirmed, pulling out her own chair. She supposed their arm-in-arm approach to the table and their conspiratorial whispers about chair etiquette could have given him the wrong impression. And yet, Rey couldn't help tagging on in a lower voice, “He's not so bad, though.”

Feeling bold, Rey smoothed her hand over the curve of his bicep, squeezing the firm muscle until he looked down at her. She needed him to know her assessment was sincere and gave him a smile that asked him to believe her. He returned the warm expression while placing his cloth napkin across his lap. He reached over to her plate, taking the styled napkin from the center and dipping his hand below the table. Ben dragged it across her lap, fingers returning the squeeze she’d given his bicep on her thigh.

Rey’s legs clenched shut on instinct, eyes widening in surprise at the brazen touch. Everything she'd heard from Rose led her to believe Ben would be shy, even hesitant. Maybe she'd been entirely wrong in her perception. It wouldn't be the first time she'd been wrong about something that evening.

He was giving her that look again: the smirk. Warm candlelight from the table's centerpiece made it look almost rakish when paired with the devilish glint in his eyes. “Neither are you.”

It took her a moment to comprehend the meaning of his words, his hand on her thigh completely erasing the last thirty seconds from her mind. So, she wasn't bad either?

Rey let her legs relax again. Her left hand joined his underneath the table, the tips of her nails lightly trailing over the length of his fingers. Ben flipped his hand palm up, but kept the back resting on her thigh. He captured her fingers between his own, rubbing circles against her skin with the pad of his thumb.

As she reached for her wine glass, Rey's right hand shook slightly, but she was happy to keep their hands entwined.

 

* * *

 

The catered dinner was accompanied by more wine and champagne to toast the newlyweds. They listened to heartfelt speeches from Finn’s chief -- Phasma -- and Rose’s sister between courses. While eating, Rey and Ben found more in common than she would have believed possible. Their backgrounds couldn’t be more different, but the passions they shared -- eliminating hunger and developing technologies aimed at helping people -- had them speaking in rushed, excited voices. The other people at the table all but disappeared as the evening went on.

Rey peered at Ben over her water glass as he spoke. The connection between them had formed in only an hour or so, but it was powerful. They’d just finished with dessert, and he was wrapping up a description of a project meant to help farmers grow produce in desert environments. His dedication to his work was stirring up a delicious cocktail of responses within her. Every time Ben lowered his voice -- something he did when he was impassioned about his topic -- Rey leaned in to better hear him. And when she spoke about her work at her university, Ben seemed to hang on every word.

His attention and intelligence were perhaps the most attractive things about him. He made her feel like someone, like she was doing something important and meaningful with her life and career. Most guys she talked to got stuck on the fact she was an attractive woman in the engineering field at all. To Ben, she was special. It wasn’t something she had to guess; she could see it reflected in his eyes. . .and he told her outright.

“You’re an incredible woman, Rey.” One hand came up to brush her cheek. Across the table, a distinct groan punctuated the action, but Rey didn’t care what Poe or anyone else thought. Nothing could break her focus from Ben Solo and how warm his palm was against her cheek.

She’d had a little too much to drink to come up with a gracious response, or even an appropriate compliment in return. Instead, what tumbled from her mouth was, “You’re incredibly sexy.”

It was as if his hand absorbed the heat of her flushed cheek, color blossoming across his pale skin in return at the direct comment. He dropped his hand to her own, gripping it and tugging gently as he stood. “Dance with me?”

Glad she didn't have time to stew in her embarrassment, Rey stood. She didn’t have time to kick off her heels before following him on to the slowly filling dance floor. There, she briefly ran into Rose and Finn, congratulating and hugging each of them tightly. At the end, Rose roped Ben in for a true group hug, with Finn and Ben on the outer edges. Rey’s back pressed intimately against Ben’s front for a brief moment, making her breath hitch.

Rose, squished against Rey's chest, caught the tell immediately. She giggled and wrapped her arms around Rey's neck. “You like him?” Rose shouted next to her ear so she could be heard over the DJ’s speakers.

“He’s nice,” Rey returned.

“He’s hot!” Rose corrected, squealing with delight as Finn broke her away from the group with an effortless spin.

Rey laughed at the happy pair before turning back to regard the man behind her. Rose was right on the money with her assessment: Ben Solo was hot. And it wasn't his intelligence that was turning her on right now.  
  
“Hi,” she said. A moment ago he'd had her squeezed against his body, yet her brain was only now processing how good it had felt, how solid he’d been.

She wanted to feel it again.

Crooking her finger, Rey beckoned him closer. She slid her hands beneath the panels of his jacket, running them along the crisp white shirt underneath and pulling him in until their bodies bumped together, completely off tempo with the loud music. Ben's hand massaged the nape of her neck, the other resting on her hip. He wasn't going to let her back away. His eyes searched hers, as if he wanted to ask her something. Rey -- though usually patient to a fault -- couldn't wait to voice the question sitting on the tip of her tongue.

“Can I kiss you?” Rey balked, sure she had meant to ask something more benign. But his lips were so close and he smelled so damn good and she was still feeling the effects of the all the wine. Instead of backpedaling, she added, “I would very much like to kiss you.”

Ben bent his head, but turned his mouth to the side, nearer to her ear. “Why do you keep beating me to the punch?”

Rey's head fell back with a single laugh, then tipped down to meet his eyes again. She had to bring one hand to his chin, squeezing it firmly to keep it in place. Everything else might be spinning around her, but Ben Solo's face was going to stay right here where she could kiss him soundly.

He had asked a question though, and she obliged him with an answer. “I'm impatient when I'm horny. You're going to have to keep up.”

His attempted smile was cut off by the crash of her lips against his.

 

* * *

 

An hour or so flew by in a mix of music and movement. Their hands rarely left one another's bodies, too busy exploring every curve and line. Rey liked it when his knuckles kneaded her lower back, but liked it even better when his fingers skimmed further down, caressing her ass through the layers of her dress.

When she turned herself around, intending to grind her hips against his pelvis, Ben planted his hands just above her hip bones, preventing the contact. Rey peered over her shoulder, mouth open and ready to voice her objection when she saw his eyes. His dark irises looked nearly black, blown wide with desire that made her stumble in her heels. Luckily, Ben had a firm enough grip on her to keep her from falling.

Carefully, he curved his chest around her upper back, still managing to keep their hips apart. It was difficult to make out his words, but she easily picked up on the desperate edge to his words: “Rey,” he rasped near her ear, “we should move this upstairs.”

She wholeheartedly agreed, though the word that came out was, “Why?”

His teeth traced the top curve of her ear, sending shivers up and down her spine. “I doubt Finn and Rose would appreciate their wedding upstaged by their friends fucking on the dance floor.”

Her knees buckled at the visualization -- which was fine, because she trusted Ben to keep her from falling on her face -- and her ankles wobbled and rolled in her slingbacks. Leveraging herself on his forearm, Rey bent and slipped them from her feet before she killed herself.

When she was done, she stood upright and beamed at him. “Ready!”

He frowned down at the gold, sparkly heels in her hands. “A pity to lose them.”

If he'd been wearing a regular tie, she would have yanked on it to hurry him along. As it was, she latched onto his lapel, drawing herself flush against his chest. “If you're a good boy, I'll wear them while you fuck me.” She surged up on her tiptoes in order to kiss him again, this time quick and urgent. Pulling away from his lips but keeping a firm hold on his jacket, she started for the exit, “C'mon, Solo. Keep up.”

 

* * *

 

The elevator was stuck.

Of all the obstacles keeping them from finishing what they'd started in the ballroom and continued along the hallway toward the elevator bay, Rey had not imagined this. They'd gone up five floors before feeling a jolt, the mechanisms beneath the tile grinding and vibrating with alarming presence.

Rey remained relatively calm. Her university hosted elevators that rocked and shuddered constantly, meaning she'd spent at least twenty minutes stuck between floors or waiting for the doors to release her during her tenure of study. A hotel elevator breaking down was probably not as common an occurrence, but it wasn't really a worry in her mind.

Except that it had left her hot and bothered with no bed in sight.

Ben was having a harder time with the abrupt stoppage. His eyes had lost their lustful ardor, panic taking its place. “I'm mildly claustrophobic,” he admitted.

“Oh.” Rey scrambled for a way to soothe him, rubbing her hands up and down his arms. “How can I help?”

He touched his forehead to hers, taking in a deep breath. “Distract me.”

She held his face between her hands, planting soft kisses along his jaw. “I think I can do that.”

After the kiss they’d shared on the dance floor and the ensuing makeout session they’d shared in the hotel hallway -- stumbling past the guest services desk and hotel bar without really registering their steps -- Rey had hoped to slow things down a bit. The aim was to continue their venture in her room, not in an elevator with who knew what kind of recording devices tucked up in the corners.

“Shh,” she calmed him, combing her fingers through his hair, using her nails to scrape his scalp lightly, making him groan and close his eyes.

“What if the brakes give out?” he whispered, hands grasping her dress at her lower back, pinning her against him. “What if we plummet to our deaths?”

It was probably a serious question, and she should probably give it a serious answer, but the wine had thickened her tongue and erased her inhibitions along with her patience. “Then I don’t want to die without knowing what your cock feels like inside of me.”

She pressed her body flush against his, nudging his legs apart with her knee so she could sink in even more. He wasn’t fully hard yet, but she was certain he was on his way. One hand left his hair, tugging his bowtie’s knot open, then undoing the single button holding his jacket shut. Beneath it, he had on a cummerbund. She whined into the column of his throat. “Why are you wearing so much damn clothing?”

“Pants,” he gasped. “Just focus on the pants.”

Rey’s lips captured his again, thanking him for the idea. If they were going to fuck in an elevator, it was probably best if they both didn’t get totally naked. Should the doors suddenly open, it would leave the hotel guests on the other side with quite a few questions.

Now employing both hands to undo the front of his pants, Rey started to kneel. Ben stopped her by grasping the sides of her arms. He looked at her, as serious as she’d seen him all evening. “It won’t take long to get me going. But are _you_ ready, Rey?”

Rey nodded. She'd never been so ready. “Yes.”

Slowly pushing her up against the opposite wall, Ben effectively reversed their positions. “I’d like to have tangible confirmation,” he replied, sinking to one knee in front of her.

“Ben,” she protested in a hiss as his hand ghosted up her leg. “We don’t have time for this. What if everything’s fixed in five minutes?”

“A lot can happen in five minutes if you’re doing it right.”

She pouted. “Or if you’re doing it exceptionally wrong.”

He laughed -- Rey could have sworn he winked at her -- before his head and upper body disappeared under the layers of tulle and polyester making up her dress. She was beyond grateful she’d removed her heels and dropped them on the elevator’s floor when it stopped. If she’d been wearing them at the time his mouth found the hottest part of her, Rey was decently certain her harsh bucking into his face would have resulted in a broken ankle.

Ben didn't remove her underwear. His lips closed over her, fabric and all. Rey’s head rolled back against the metal wall, closing her eyes in ecstasy. Without being able to see him, it was like she was wearing a blindfold, having to guess what he would do next. Her body went taut with anticipation. From underneath the dress, she thought she heard words like “wet” and “wonderful,” but Rey was too focused on the sensations to care about praise or encouragement.

Carefully balancing on one leg, she lifted the other to rest over his shoulder, heel hitting him at an angle mid-back, opening herself up for easier access. Ben didn’t disappoint. One hand slid around the back of her thigh, steadying her grounded leg. With the other, he tugged aside her underwear and tasted her fully, drinking her in.

She devolved quickly from “Oh, fuck” and “yes” to sounds that could only be considered gutturals. And, although she had difficulty hearing him, Rey could feel the approving vibrations in his lips and tongue as it alternately sank into her and circled her clit. The pattern was maddening, making her planted leg quiver with the effort it took to stand under the onslaught; she thought it might give out altogether before he was done.

“Ben,” she cried in warning, so close to losing it. Her hands scrabbled for something to hold onto, but Ben was only a pair of legs and shoes, and the wall behind her had no kind of handrail. She was going to fall.

The hand supporting her leg moved up over the curve of her ass, as if telling her to relax. Rey made a sound of protest. Quickly, Rey bunched the front of her dress in her hands, gathering fistfuls of tulle in order to reveal him. Ben looked up at her with a flushed face; the roots of his hair had dampened with sweat, and something sinful glistened on his deeply pink lips.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I didn’t want you to suffocate down there,” she responded. “And, as nice as this is, it isn’t what I want.”

His eyes darkened, but still held a note of hesitance. “Are you sure, Rey? We don’t have a condom.”

 _Shit_. He was right. She'd brought a pack with her to the wedding -- hopeful of breaking her dry spell -- but she hadn't slipped one into her clutch. Biting her lower lip in thought, she considered the dilemma for two seconds.

“Screw it. I'm on the pill,” she informed him. “Unless there’s something you need to tell me--”

“There’s not,” he assured her.

“Then I’m all for this,” she prompted him to stand with a hand around his bicep. It couldn’t wrap halfway around the muscle. When he was upright again, Rey’s hand traveled south to continue what it had started a short time ago. This time, she was met with a stiff length that made her eyebrows raise. Dipping her hand into his pants and beneath the waistline of his boxers, Rey brought his cock out into the light like some trophy revealed from beneath a velvet veil.

She swallowed hard at the size of it. Even with both hands, she wasn’t sure they would be enough to cover him root to tip. The thought of having it buried inside of her flooded her abdomen with warmth. She felt a sense of victory, for Ben Solo -- and all of his parts, physical and otherwise -- was most certainly a prize.

Rey smoothed her hand over his sensitive flesh, spreading the beaded, silky precum up and down his shaft. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had been inside of her without a condom -- hell, it was hard enough to remember the last time she’d had anything inside her except her own fingers or toys -- but she was ready for this to happen.

Ben gave her another chance to stall. “Are you sure? We could wait until we get to your room.”

Rey shook her head. Having just been on the cusp of an orgasm and with Ben hot and needy in her hand, there was no way she was backing out now. “You could stop? Really?”

To punctuate her question, she stroked him again, rubbing her thumb over his slit and quirking one eyebrow.

His hips thrust forward. “Rey--”

She kissed him quiet, keeping her tongue gentle as she coaxed a moan from his throat. “Just don't come inside me, m'kay?”

He nodded, chasing after her mouth and framing her face with his hands. When he pulled back, he breathed, “I want to see you.”

It was a soft admission, one that echoed in the back of her own mind. Though it might be easiest to have him drive into her from behind in an elevator, she wanted to witness the emotions that would cross his face as he sank inside her. Apparently, he wanted to see the same thing from her.

Rey expertly divested herself of her underwear, mindful to keep it from the elevator floor. Unable to reach her clutch, she stuffed the pair of panties into the neckline of her dress with a wry smile.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Ben murmured.

“You’d better,” she replied. “Because I need you inside me, now, or I might combust.”

“You’re too beautiful to break into a million pieces.”

She tipped back until her shoulder blades slid against the metal wall behind her, then used both hands to tug on the ends of his bowtie. “You had me close to shattering earlier,” she told him, voice husky. “I think you should finish the job.”

Rey didn’t let go of his tie until he kissed her again, wrapping both arms around her waist and dragging her against him. Even with the layers of fabric between them, she could tell how much he wanted her. The way he made her feel was dizzying; Rey grasped at his forearms for stability as he deepened their kiss, stroking his tongue along her own in the same rhythm he'd used while burying it inside her moments ago. A hint of her own taste remained and set her moaning into his mouth.

She didn’t have to ask again. Breaking from the kiss and hiking up her skirts, Ben took himself in one hand to better guide him to her entrance. The tip of his cock was warm and slick, sliding over her folds before sinking inside of her with one thrust.

Rey bit her lip to stifle a cry. As he continued to push forward, pressing into her as far as she could take him, Rey wrapped her arms around his neck and nosed at the base of his throat, whimpering softly. Every so often, she whispered his name, maybe a prayer. She wasn’t entirely sure of the words flowing from her mouth, only that they were muffled by his salt-tinged skin.

“You okay?” he asked after a few experimental movements. “Talk to me, Rey.”

“Yes,” she responded. “It feels. . .so-- Oh, god, do that again.”

He’d bent his knees, angling his thrust up and hitting something deep inside her that made her shake. She’d never felt so full. Overwhelmed by the sensation of his strokes and his scent wafting over her, Rey could do little else but hang onto him and beg for more. It was obscene.

Ben kissed along her collarbone, teething at the crux of her neck and shoulder before moving his mouth to the side of her throat and latching onto a spot just beneath her ear. His hips continued to rut into her in long, powerful strokes. They may be having a quickie in the elevator, but it didn’t have to be haphazard. Every move -- much like everything he did, Rey imagined -- was orchestrated in perfect time. His hands guided her, helping correct her syncopation into something more rhythmic, something that would send her straight into a crescendo.

And she _was_ building toward that bombastic moment. With every thrust, he brushed against her inner bundle of nerves -- that sensitive spot she’d only ever felt by using her own hand. None of her previous partners had been able to coax such sensations from her by penetration alone. She thought it was physically impossible for her come without something extra involved.

Ben was proving otherwise. Sweat now dotted his brow, and he clenched his jaw into a tight grimace. Rey used a trembling hand to try and smooth away the discomfort. “What is it?”

His eyes focused on her own, and his pace stuttered before resuming, stronger and steadier. “I’m so close,” he whispered. “But you haven’t come.”

He was trying his best to last, and it made Rey’s heart melt. What other guy had ever cared if she came first? Exactly none.

“Let me help,” she said, reaching down to rub her swollen clit with her fingers. Not long after she began touching herself, Ben’s hand joined hers. Rey showed him what to do, arching her back and gasping when he hit the nerve just right.

From there, it only took less than a minute for her to come undone, breaking apart just as she’d wanted to under his touch. With a cry, she spasmed around his cock, her muscles clenching and releasing in staccato rhythm.

Ben leaned forward, rasping a string of expletives interwoven with Rey’s name next to her ear. She barely got out a breathy, “Ben--” before he withdrew from her and stumbled back, his hand wrapping around himself and pumping vigorously.

“Fuck. Where?”

He'd remembered her request he pull out better than she had. Rey almost regretted making it. She glanced around with him, looking for an appropriate place for him to release his spend, but she was still wearing a dress and it would be terrible to ask him to come on the floor. There was only one viable option.

Still wobbly from her own climax, Rey knelt on the ground, taking his massive thighs in her hands and angling his hips toward her face. Her intention couldn't have been more clear.

“Rey.” He attempted to step back, but Rey held tight. “You don't have--”

Her eyes flicked up to meet his, mouth falling open. “Come in my mouth, Ben.”

It was a quick exchange. He was too close to the precipice to drag out the ultimate end. Relinquishing his hold on himself, he allowed Rey to take control, throwing his arm over his eyes for a brief moment before angling his head down to watch her.

Rey took as much of him in her mouth as she could fit without gagging. She hollowed her cheeks, sucking lightly while her tongue pressed the vein running on the underside of his cock. Ben panted above her, placing one hand on top of her head. He didn't guide her movement, didn't attempt to take control in any way. He simply held on as he cried out, announcing the hot spurts of cum that flooded her mouth seconds later.

Rey gentled her ministrations even more, not wanting to overstimulate him to the point of pain. When Ben was finished, she pulled away from him with a soft pop, swallowing the majority of what he'd expended. She searched for her underwear, pulling them out of her neckline and using the satin to clean the rest of him before carefully concealing his softened cock back in his boxers and zippering the front of his slacks.

Ben knelt down and took the crumpled underwear from her hand, turning it to an unused section and tenderly wiping a dribble of his cum from her chin. “Christ, Rey. That was--”

“Fucking fantastic,” she finished for him, touching the tip of his nose with a finger.

Rey plucked her underwear from his hand and tucked them back into her bodice, making it look like her right breast was larger than the left; otherwise, her dress looked much as it had when they’d entered the elevator. Other than her destroyed updo and the flushed skin spread across her cheeks and chest, no one would know what they'd just done.

Well, unless they had any sense of smell. Anyone who entered this elevator was going to smell the heady musk of their fucking. In such a small space, it was concentrated and rich.

Ben's hair was woefully mussed, though Rey found the disheveled style sexy: her fingers had done that to him, marking him in her own way.

Speaking of which. . .Rey's hand rose to the space beneath her ear, rubbing the tender spot. “Did you give me a hickey?”

Ben cringed and brushed aside the hair which he'd pulled loose from her formal updo at some point. Using his thumb, he smoothed over the spot her fingertips had just explored. “I got a bit carried away,” he acknowledged. “I'm sorry.”

Rey used both hands to close over his wrist, sliding her fingers under the cuffs of his crisp white shirt. She peered up at him. “I don't mind. So long as you let me return the gesture later.”

Ben responded with a hum and bent his head to seek her lips. The kiss was tender, little more than a peck, but it made her breath catch. There was something about it that felt familiar, as though they'd know each other for years instead of hours. They weren't going to part ways when the elevator doors opened. They were going to walk arm and arm to her room and do things properly. If Rey had her way, they’d have to extend their checkout time the following morning.

“Ben?” she asked, standing and scooping up her forgotten shoes and small clutch, then leaning her forehead against his shoulder. “Can I ask for a teensy favor?”

He stood and laughed, one palm pressed to the small of her back. “Sweetheart, you can ask for anything. I’d give you the moon if you wanted it.”

Rey’s fingers poked at his side. “God, Rose was right. You _are_ a hopeless romantic,” she teased, kissing the side of his arm to show him her words weren’t meant to be cruel. Rey continued, “It’s nothing that extravagant.”

It was at that moment the light for level five illuminated above the doors and a cheery ding announced their arrival to the wrong floor. With a mechanical groan, the golden doors slid open, disappearing into the walls. No one was waiting on the other side, much to Rey’s surprise and pleasure. She didn’t want this moment interrupted by anyone else.

Ben didn’t move or make a remark about their freedom. “What is this favor, then?”

Remembering what she wanted, Rey gently squeezed his upper arm. “Would you use these big, strong arms of yours to carry me to the room? My shoes have wrecked my feet.”

He satisfied her request immediately. Using the arm at her back, he gripped her waist and lifted her into the air, swinging his other arm under her knees. Rey emitted a shout at the sudden upheaval, then fell into a fit of giggles as he stepped out of the elevator. Somewhere in this hotel, she imagined her best friend was being lifted over a threshold in much the same manner, but she wondered if Finn was whispering the same promise in Rose’s ear:

“Poor things,” he remarked. “I’ll make sure they don’t touch the ground until morning.”

Rey nuzzled into the crook of his neck. “I haven't forgotten my promise.”

“What's that?” They were still standing just outside of the elevator doors.

She turned his head to hers, caressing the side of his face. Rey used her free hand to hold up one of her slingbacks. “I'll let you fuck me while I wear these. Even if my feet hurt."

“Maybe another time,” Ben said with a smile. “I'd rather have your feet recovered first.”

The idea of having more than one night together with Ben was a welcome one. It made her heart skip with a happy beat. “Okay.” Rey smiled, then asked, “Why aren't we moving?”

He adjusted his hold on her minutely. “I don't know your room number. Where do we need to go?”

She thought a moment, her mind sifting through the haze of wine and sex to remember the three digit number. “I'm in 847.”

“That's three floors up.” He squeezed her more securely against his chest -- how his arms hadn't given out yet, she didn't know -- pivoted, and began walking toward a nondescript door with purpose.

“Ben, where are you going?”

“I'm not risking it this time," he responded, shouldering through the doorway. "We're taking the stairs.”


End file.
